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In Search of Aunt Jemima
- Michigan State University Press
- Chapter
- Additional Information
In Search of Aunt Jemima I have sailed the south rivers of China and prayed to hillside Buddahs. I've lived in Salamanca, Cuernavaca, Misawa, and Madrid. Have stood upon the anointed sands of Egypt and found my soul in their grains. I've read more fiction, nonfiction, biographies, poetry, magazines, essays, and bullshit than imaginable, possible, or even practical. I am beyond well read, am somewhat of a bibliophile. Still, I'm gawked at by white girls on subways who want to know why and how I'm reading T. S. Eliot. I've shopped Hong Kong and Bangkok out in heat so hot the trees were looking for shade-I was the hottest thing around. I'm followed in corner stores, grocery stores, any store. I can issue you insults in German, Spanish, and a little Japanese. I'm still greeted by wannabe-hip white boys in half-assed ghettoese. I've been 250 pounds, ISO pounds and have lived and loved every pound in between. I am still restricted by Nell Carter images of me. I've eaten rabbit in Rome, paella in Barcelona, couscous in Morocco, and am seated at the worst table by mentally challenged Maitre'd's who think my big ass is there for coffee. 67 I am still passed up by cabs passed over for jobs ignored by politicians guilty before innocent Black before human. And I'm expected to know Snoop Dog's latest hit Mike's latest scandal I'm expected to believe in O';:s innocence. And I am still expected to walk white babies up and down 92nd street as I nurse them, sing a hymn and dance a jig. Sorry, not this sista, sista-girl, miss boo, miss it, miss thang, honey, honey-child, girl, girlfriend. See, I am not your militant right-on sista wearing dashikis and '&os with my fist in the air spouting Black Power while smoking weed, burning incense and making love to Shaka-formally known as Tyrone. I am not your high-yellow saditty college girl flaunting Gucci bags and Armani suits driving an alabaster colored Beemer with tinted windows and A.K.A. symbols rimming my license plate. I am not your three-babies-by-fifteen, green dragon lady press on nails whose rambunctious ass is stuffed into too tight lycra with a lollipop hanging out the side of my mouf and a piece of hair caught in a rubberband stuck to the top of my head. 68 [18.204.42.89] Project MUSE (2024-03-29 11:44 GMT) I am not your Timberland, Tommy Hilfiger, 10K hollow-hoop wearin gangsta rappin crack dealin blunt smokin bandanna wearin Bitch named Poochie. I am not your conscience clearer. I am not your convenient Black friend. Notyourprototypenotyoursellout •cuz massa and the big house is too good. I am not your Aunt Jemima. In my (8,957) days of Black womanhood I've learned this: Be careful of what you say of what you think of what you do because you never know who you're talking to. 69 ...